


too constant for magic

by astrogeny



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Spoilers, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 14:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4483229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrogeny/pseuds/astrogeny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You cast a spell on me, sunshine.“  Soleil puts her warm little hands on his cheeks (somewhat invasively) and scrutinizes him, trying to figure out how exactly she’s magicked her father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	too constant for magic

**Author's Note:**

> i was thinking today abt my cool fef au where the second gen grows up normally, instead of in weird hyperbolic time chambers solely for the sake of fanservice. i feel like the fea trio especially would be very, very invested in being there for as much of their kids’ lives as possible. idk mostly i just wanted smol soleil and young dad inigo, ft. a bunch of miscellaneous hcs of mine. tried to avoid concretely mentioning soleil’s mom, but it’s meant to be pieri.

“He did a magic trick,” Soleil reports when Lazwald comes to pick her up from Odin’s apartments.  These days, Odin is too often away, and Lazwald is too often stuck in Nohr’s palace, chasing after his lord and attempting to pass as a reasonably respectable man.  His successes, he’s sure, have been spotty.  Soleil is six, not yet old enough to be offended by the fact that her father has foisted her off on an old friend for the afternoon just as an excuse to keep him around a few days longer.

“Did he, now?” taking Soleil’s little hand in his.  Her hands are always warm and vaguely sweaty, the result of constant energy and a determined will to make even Castle Krakenburg into an exciting place to explore.  Lazwald figures Odin is more than equal to the task of keeping up with Soleil, seeing as he remains, in essence, a very large child himself.  

“He pulled a candy out of my ear,” she says, like she’s not quite sure he’ll believe her.  "Can I eat it?  It didn’t touch anything gross inside my ear.“  Lazwald laughs at this–Odin has developed a repertoire of party tricks so abysmally bad that only a six year old could ever fall for them.  He supposes they’re a preferable alternative to death-spells, or whatever else Prince Leo has Odin cooking up these days.  

"You can eat it, love,” he reassures her.  Soleil’s small face remains scrunched up in thought.  She’s a very literal child, the sort who will accept her father’s word as invariable truth while regarding anything she can’t touch for herself as a mystery she’s simply not meant to solve.  From the pocket of her skirt, Soleil produces the candy in question.  To Lazwald’s amusement, she seems to be examining it for any traces of earwax before popping it into her mouth, all concerns immediately gone.  The mystery of magic completely vanished from her thoughts, Soleil begins to gently swing his hand to the tempo of their steps.  

He looks for the fractions of himself in her, in moments where she’s standing still enough for him to do so.  Fatherhood has either made him more mature, more contemplative, or it’s brought him down to a new level of misty-eyed sentimentality.  Lazwald wonders if there are any remnants of magic left in him, or if Nohr shook them all out like brushing grains of sand from a towel.  Plegia is still writ in Soleil’s face and skin, though it’s more faint, less evident with no one else to compare it to but him.  She has his mother’s hair color, if not its texture, and the rest is all a vague blur of childlike features that have yet to define themselves.  Except for the nose, Lazwald thinks with mild regret.  Gods, he wishes he hadn’t given her his nose.  It looks far cuter on her face than it does on his, at the very least.

“Would you like to do magic?” he asks her, just to see what she’ll say.  Soleil looks up at him, lips set in a contemplative pout.  This is her mother’s, Lazwald realizes, a piece of her that was always part of Nohr.

“No.” She says it simply, lightly.  What she would like to do, more likely than not, is smack the little crown prince about the head with a stick to prove that she’s infinitely cooler than he is, before providing a crash course in the level of coolness appropriate for anyone who should like to be her playmate.  

“Are you sure?  You’ve already done magic, you know.”  At this, Soleil’s eyes go wide, and she stops dead in her tracks.  Her reactions are, as always, rather bombastic.

“What?” Soleil nearly shouts the word, attracting the scandalized gaze of a few ladies lingering nearby.  Lazwald gives them a polite smile and a wave, along with a look that he hopes says something like, “you know how children are, it’s endearing”.  

“You certainly have,” he continues, scooping her up into his arms as she shrieks with surprised laughter.  "You cast a spell on me, sunshine.“  Soleil puts her warm little hands on his cheeks (somewhat invasively) and scrutinizes him, trying to figure out how exactly she’s magicked her father.  "You tried to turn me into an old man, but you only got as far as my hair.”  Fatherhood is also Lazwald’s excuse for his hair having gone as white as his own father’s before he’s even left his twenties.  He’s still trying to convince himself that the look is suave and fetching.

“You  _are_  an old man!” Soleil exclaims.  "I still love you, though,“ she adds quickly, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face against his shoulder.

"An old man?” he gasps, all mock scandal.  "Just how old do you think I am?“

"Fifty-two!”

“I’m not even thirty!”  The difference means absolutely nothing to a girl of six, he knows.  He is old and infallible and constant in her eyes–too constant for magic.


End file.
